


What shall we do with a nosy Sith Lord?

by Arabwel



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fraternization, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Kink Negotiation, Kylo Ren is Not Matt the Radar Technician, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shenanigans, Voyeurism, the lady ex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12997239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/pseuds/Arabwel
Summary: In which Max and Firmus discover that yes, Lord Vader knows they are fraternitizing and shenanigans ensue.Featuring lots of alcohol, the Thundering Herd, Clone culture being kept alive, Vader polishing his helmet, Force-assisted voyeurism, Iron Max's abs, human disaster Anakin Skywalker in good company, and an eventual threesome sandwich with a smol admiral filling.





	What shall we do with a nosy Sith Lord?

**Author's Note:**

> So after a 18 year break I am back to writing Star Wars and desecrating my childhood memories with original trilogy porn.
> 
> Massive thanks to all of Imperial discord for the inspiration and the encouragement!

Veers barely has his hands under Piett’s shirt when the latter’s com goes off.

The admiral bites back a groan as he reaches for it. His eyes are still dark with lust but there is no trace of it in his voice when he clicks the button. “Piett.”

_“Admiral.”_ there is absolutely no mistaking of the voice that booms even through the normally tinny comlink. “ _I require your presence at the bridge.”_ The _immediately_ was more than implied but it was something Piett was intimately familiar with at this point.

Piett begins to respond, the _Yes, My Lord_ on his lips when Vader continues.

“ _Bring General Veers_ _with you.”_

Piett knows he is gaping; his breath is caught in his throat as if the power of the Force had caught him across the entire ship even if he knows it is psychosomatic. No one should know they are here - they have been careful - this is not -

“Yes, My Lord,” Piett forces the words out. The transmission cuts as abruptly as it came in, leaving behind a heavy silence.

“Well, kriff.” Veers’ voice is rough and low even as he straightens his shoulders, the shift in posture intimately familiar to Piett. This is where Max ends and General Veers starts, the change from his friend and lover to his fellow soldier and army counterpart.

Piett draws himself up to his somewhat inconsiderable height and smoothes his jacket down; it is only a matter of minutes to have his shirt buttoned and no sign of their activities showing.

“We should not keep His Lordship waiting.”

They are friends and lovers, but above all they are loyal men of the Empire.

Piett firmly shoves the thought they might be marching to their doom aside as they exit his quarters and head to the bridge. Lord Vader despises failure and weakness, and there is none to be found here.  


**

Much, much later, Max is staring into an empty tumbler of Ithorian brandy like it holds the secrets of the universe. It just might.

Beside him, Firmus sighs; the noise is soft, softer than one would expect from a high strung, high performing imperial admiral, but Max knows there is much more to Firmus Piett than meets the eye. The diminutive height and the attention to detail hide one of the finest minds the Imperial Navy has ever been graced with, and a will of iron that makes Max think if anyone should be nicknamed Iron anything, it should be Firmus. After all, Max doesn’t quite have those washboard abs anymore.

Unbidden, the memory of his wife comes to him; it still aches but not as much as it used to, to remember her giddiness when she first heard that nickname - _“I heard he has an eight pack!”_ she’d laughed when she traced a hand over his lower abs, “ _He’s shredded!”_

Max no longer has quite as much definition, age and gravity having done their job to reduce an eight to a six, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t plenty for Firmus to trace with his lips and tongue, to trail leather-clad fingertips over in that intense, fascinated way of his-

It’s not enough to distract him; Max groans and reaches for the bottle, intent on refilling his glass.

“I don’t think getting any more drunk is going to make it go away, Max.” Firmus’ voice is quiet, almost soft when they are like this, but there is a resigned edge to it. “He knows.”

The thing is, Firmus is right. There is no taking back the fact that they know that Lord Vader knows that they know he knows - that the Supreme Commander of the Imperial military is aware that his favored Admiral and General are engaged in what is, in essence, an illicit affair that breaks far too many regulations - they both are keenly aware of each and every breach of Imperial protocol they have committed.  

“Yeah, he knows,” Max agrees, blinking slowly “Guess that makes the 64 thousand credit question, what is he going to do about it?”

They contemplate in silence for a moment. Max knows they are both aware that the most likely result of raising the Dark Lord’s ire is a crushed throat, one way or another; the lightsaber only comes out for special occasions.

“He made short work of Major Vinka,” Firmus’ tone is glum as he takes another sip from his glass, only the slight flush on his cheeks betrays that he’s been keeping up with Max drink for drink.

Max remembers that. It _had_ been a special occasion. “Vinka was an asshole,” he reminds Firmus.

Firmus snorts. “Vinka was a rapist pig, Max.”

That, Max won’t dispute. He despises any officer who thinks their rank grants them privileges to another’s person as Vinka had done; a swift execution was a better fate than he deserved.

“Was still called fraternizing,” Max murmurs, another gulp of rum driving away the foul taste in his mouth. No one had dared to speak up, but Vader hadn’t needed words, now, had he? He’d known, and he’d acted.

“He never did anything about Riptide and Ruffles,” Firmus muses. “Now _that_ was some fraternizing.”

Max snorts. “What was their word for brother, again? _Vole?_ ”

The little frown that appears on Firmus’ face and the way his tongue pokes out to wet his lips makes Max want to put the glasses aside and go reconnaissance. “Vod, I think.”

The clones did it first is not even an unofficial motto of the imperial military, but there is a grain of truth to the jokes; Max is old enough, as is Firmus, to remember how the foundations of the Imperial military were built on the ruins of the republic’s grand army, the clones who rose up against the Jedi who enslaved them the backbone of the new might. Hell, Vader’s Fist, the 501st, had once been nothing but clones, and had had a disproportionate number of them even after.

Max has turned a blind eye to more than one inappropriate battle decoration on an AT-AT, but he draws the line at jaig eyes.

Firmus raises his glass. “To fraternization,” he says and throws back the alcohol at one go, baring the line of his neck to Max’s eyes.

Yeah, he’s definitely going to reconnoiter the kriff out of his Admiral.

****

With morning, comes sobriety and a headache the size of the Lady Ex’s main hangar. Piett grits his teeth and downs painkillers with his caff, fully aware that he ought to know better than to drink like a midshipman on her first leave.

Stifling a hiss when his starched collar brushes against a hidden love bite, he is also well aware that he should not have let Max be as amorous as the proverbial midshipman, but he cannot fault the other’s logic at the time. Or the results. Goddess, the _results._

Perhaps it is reckless to believe that their transgressions against regulations are sheltered by… sentiment, especially on Lord Vader’s part. Certainly there are some who would think that it is tantamount to suicide, but the many years Piett has spent in the Dark Lord’s shadow have taught him otherwise. The mercurial moods of the man go both ways.

Piett likes to think he is better than most in reading Vader’s mood; the tilt of the helmet, the precise position of the gloved hands on his hips, the sway of his cape as he strides across the bridge. It may be because he simply watches his Lord more than most, but it is a knack he’s always had, ever since he was hunting pirates and smugglers back home.

No one wants to play Sabacc against him anymore, more’s the pity. Veers tells him he’s more of a pirate than the scum he hunted, but that’s because the General’s tells are easy and it’s not just Piett who knows it, but all of the Thundering Herd.

Any memory of strip Sabacc has been carefully stowed away by the time Piett makes his report to Lord Vader. He doesn’t quite believe that his superior can read his deepest, darkest thoughts, but there’s also no reason to give up easy pickings if the sorcerous ways were to befall him today.

No, Piett would rather not His Lordship see some corners of his mind. There are things he keeps tucked away, things he would rather not acknowledge even to himself let alone to Vader. Things best left to dark, lonely nights in deep space when one’s thoughts wander in dangerous ways.

None of this is on Piett’s mind as he speaks with Vader, the topic of the day nothing too exciting - quarterly maintenance is coming up and although Vader is often keen on the mechanical aspects, Piett knows he doesn’t have quite the same zeal for the logistical side of things.

When he acknowledges the order to arrange for the rendezvous with the supply convoy, Piett finds himself again hiding a wince when the collar brushes against the bite. Had Veers broken the skin? The thought is suppressed hastily, as is the discomfort as he moves onto another subject, but there is a part of Piett that could swear the tilt of Vader’s helmet is the equivalent of a smirk on another man.

Firmus Piett is far too old and jaded to blush in front of his commanding officer, dammit. He is an admiral in the Imperial Navy, in the Death Squadron for Goddess’ sakes, and there certainly is not a faint flush to his cheeks when he finishes his conversation with Lord Vader.

He is going to _strangle_ Max for this.


End file.
